The thought is troubling my mind
that she has a narrow heart, and that in this lies the secret of her
unyieldingness. To-day, when I come to think it over more calmly, I go
back to the conviction that she has some feeling for me, composed of
gratitude, pity, and memories of the past; but it has no active power,
cannot rise above prejudice,--even to the avowal of its existence.
It does not respect itself, hides, is ashamed of itself, and in
comparison with mine is as the mustard-seed to those Alps which
surround us. From Aniela one may expect that she will restrict it
rather than let it grow. It is of no use to hope or watch for anything
from her; that conviction makes me very wretched.
4 August.
Some time ago I had a faint hope that under the influence of
indignation against her husband, Aniela might come to me and say:
"Since you have paid for me, I am yours." Another of my delusions. Any
other woman, with exalted notions fed upon French novels, might have
acted thus; or one who wanted only a pretext to throw herself into a
lover's arms. No; Aniela will never do that, and if such a thought
came into my mind at all it is because I too have been fed upon those
pseudo-dramas of the feminine soul, which at bottom illustrate only
the desire to cast virtue adrift. There is but one thing which would
push Aniela into my arms, and that is her heart; but no artificial
scenes, no phrases or false pathos.
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